Bluebeard's Wife by Selena Kitt

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What would you do, if you found out your husband was secretly calling into phone sex lines? Confront him? Throw him out? Divorce him?

Nope! Instead of getting angry, curious Tara decides to start listening in on John’s steamy conversations. She can’t help herself, because her laconic husband has never shared a fantasy with his wife during their entire marriage. But it turns out he’s been leading a double life, telling other women what he really wants in the bedroom!

When a frustrated Tara turns to her best friend, Kelly, for advice, her much more adventurous partner-in-crime hatches a plan to bring John and Tara together. Once the trap is set, using Kelly as bait, the two women spring it on one unsuspecting man whose fantasies are about to become a very sexy reality.

Warnings: This title contains a MFF threesome, a role play between consenting adults, strong language, minor drug use and F/F sex.

We ended up closing the place down, John and I. Kelly and Chris headed home about midnight, and I sat and finished another bottle of wine while I watched John move among the tables, talking and laughing. He helped me on with my coat when it was time to go, and held my elbow as we walked to the car.

“Are you drunk?” he asked me as he got into driver’s side.

I looked over at him in the dimness. “Are you mad?

“Am I mad that you’re drunk? Or am I mad that you were out dirty dancing with your girlfriend at my company Christmas party?” John started the car and put it in reverse.

“Um… that, or… whatever,” I said, struggling with my seat belt. I couldn’t seem to find the slot to put it into. John accelerated hard and I was propelled back against the seat. I was still trying to get my seat belt fastened when John hit the brakes at a stop sign and I jolted forward, reaching out my hand to the dashboard to catch myself, but my reflexes were slow, and I missed.

“What were you thinking?” John asked with a sigh, reaching over and doing my seat belt up for me.

I felt tears sting my eyes and looked out the passenger window so he wouldn’t see them. “I don’t know,” I whispered. “I guess maybe that you might think I was sexy.”

We didn’t talk again until John backed the car into the garage. He always backed in, so he could pull put in a hurry in the morning. Then he turned to me in the dark of the car, his voice low. “Tara, do you know what I wanted to do to you when you came downstairs in that dress?”

I shook my head, turning a little toward him.

John reached a hand out and fingered the soft, satin hem that was riding high on my thighs. “I wanted to tear it off you.”

“You did?” I asked, my eyes wide. He was looking down at where my dress ended.

“I wanted to tear it off you and take you, right there, up against the wall in the hallway.” His voice was hoarse, and I swallowed hard.

“You did?” I squeaked.

“Seeing you dancing out there with Kelly—you don’t know how sexy you are, do you?” he asked, leaning over to me, his hand running up from my knee to my thigh. His breath was warm on my face, and I could smell the 7&7’s he’d been drinking all night. My own head was still swimming with wine.

“You two rubbing up against each other, seeing your red little dress riding up and up,” he whispered, his hand pushing my dress up further as he sought higher ground on my leg. “You looked just like you do when you come, with your eyes half closed and your mouth open and your legs quivering.”

I moaned, tilting my face up to him, and then he was kissing me, his tongue forcing its way past my teeth, down my throat, as he pressed me into the door. “I wanted to fuck you right there on the dance floor,” he growled against my neck, biting and sucking at my flesh. “I wanted to fuck you both.”

I gasped, his hands groping me in the dark, everywhere at once. My dress was pushed up to my waist now, his fingers rubbing fast and hard between my legs. We kissed, our mouths meshing together as he leaned over the gearshift to get to me. When he pulled my panties aside and plunged his fingers into me, I hissed, putting one foot up onto the dashboard to give him better access.

He was trying to climb over onto me but there wasn’t enough room—not in his little Roadster. When I whispered that fact to him, he grunted, pulling his hand away from me and moving to open his door. A moment later, he was opening mine, and I was still sitting there with my panties askew, my heels off, and my dress shoved up to my waist, struggling with the seatbelt.

He leaned over me and popped the button, pulling me out of the car and crushing me to him, his tongue digging deep into my mouth. I clung to him, wrapping my arms around his neck, feeling his hands roaming over my ass, squeezing and lifting me, pressing my crotch to his. I could feel how hard he was through his trousers.

Then he was turning me around, pressing me over the hood of the car, shoving my dress up higher on my waist. His hands moved over my ass, my thighs, and I heard his zipper and the felt his cock pressing against my panties. He shoved those aside, his fingers finding me again, moving in and out of my wetness—and I was wet, soaking wet, my panties moist with my heat.

He didn’t bother to take them off, he just replaced his fingers with his cock, shoving himself deep inside me with a growl. I moaned, pressing my cheek to the metal, the engine still ticking as he started to fuck me, my hands out in front of me, just letting him take me. I could see the Christmas lights of the neighbor’s house across the street, a blurred red and green glow as he rocked me against the Beemer’s electric blue hood. He hadn’t even shut the garage door.

“You like that?” he whispered, grinding his pelvis into me, his cock buried so deep it almost hurt. I couldn’t catch my breath to answer, I just whimpered, but I arched my back and pressed against him in response.

He reached over me, grabbing my arms and twisting them behind my back. I gasped, wriggling and moaning, as he held my wrists with one hand, still fucking me, harder now, driving me against the cold side panel of the car. He slapped my ass with the other hand, making me squirm. The hot sting felt good in the night air.

I could see my breath, panting out in white streams toward Mr. Klein’s house across the way—and I could see Mr. Klein, walking across his living room. I wondered if he might be able to see us, and the thought was beyond exciting.

John was grunting with every thrust, his breath ragged. My panties were snug between my legs and every time he shoved into me, he pulled them up tight between my lips and effectively massaged my clit, the friction building up as he fucked me, really rapidly now, all the way into me, working hard.

“Oh god,” I cried, feeling his hand tighten around my wrists, pulling me back against him and driving deeper, deeper still, into my pussy. “John, make me come!”

I could still see Mr. Klein, and I think he was at his window, but I didn’t care. I ground myself back against John’s cock, wanting more and more, until I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think. I was dizzy with wanting, feeling the ache between my legs moving toward release.

John grabbed my hip with his other hand, forcing himself hard up into me, growling and grinding, “Ahhhh god, baby, take my cum!” Feeling the first wave of him, hot and pulsing, coupled with his hips pounding against mine, forced me over, too, and I came hard, my pussy squeezing him, milking him.

“Ohhh yes, ohhhh!” I moaned, thrashing on the hood of the car, quivering beneath him.

He pulled out of me, and the cold of the night rushed in, making me shiver. He didn’t let go of my wrists, turning me around to kiss me, his mouth a little softer now, but not much, his tongue still probing deep, his bare thighs pressing me back against the car, my ass resting against the cool edge.